“She baby-sat the other two girls,” I offered.
Jack nodded. “So she knew them all physically. She’d have an opportunity, sooner or later, to see each girl naked. But the Macklesby baby didn’t have any distinguishing physical marks.”
“So who do you think sent you the picture?”
“I think it was Meredith Osborn.” He turned from the window to look at me directly. “I think she sent it because she wanted to right some great wrong. And I think that’s why she was killed.”
“What were you really doing the night she died?”
“I was on my way to ask her some questions,” he said. “I’d driven past the Bartley Grill, and I saw her husband and the kids inside. The baby was on the table in one of those carriers, and he and Eve were chattering away. So I knew Meredith was home by herself, and I thought she might know more about the picture.”
“Why?”
“Roy had brushed the picture and the envelope for fingerprints. There weren’t any on the picture-it had been wiped-but there was one on the envelope, on the tape used to seal the flap. It was a clear print, very small. You’d told me how little Meredith was. Did you ever notice how tiny her hands were?”
I never had.
“I’d hoped to get some fingerprints of hers to compare. I planned on ringing the doorbell, telling her that I was a detective in town on a job as well as being your boyfriend. I was going to hand her a photo, ask her to identify it. When she said she didn’t know the subject, I would put the photo in a bag and later test it for fingerprints.”
If I were in the Osborn house I could find something I could almost bet would have her fingerprints on it. I could also check to see if Eve’s memory book was missing a page.
“But I don’t want you getting into this. You saw how she died,” Jack said brutally. I looked up sharply. He was standing right in front of me.
“I can tell when you’re going to do something; you get this stubborn clench to your jaw,” he continued. “What’s in your head, Lily?”
“Cleaning,” I said.
“Cleaning what?”
“Cleaning the Osborn house, and the Kingery house.”
He thought that over. “This isn’t your case,” he said.
“I want us out of here by Christmas.”
“Me too,” he said fervently.
“Well, then,” I said, concluding our discussion.
“Did I just say something I didn’t know I said?”
“We agree on getting this done by Christmas.”
Jack gave me a dark look. “So, I’m driving out of here,” he said abruptly. “I’ll call you. Don’t do anything that could put you in danger.”
“Drive careful,” I told him. He gave me an unloving peck on the cheek, another suspicious look, and, without further ado, he left. I watched through the uncurtained window as Jack fastened his seat belt and backed out of. the driveway.
Then I went over to the widower and offered to clean his house.
Chapter Six
Since Emory was so fine-boned and fair, the swollen red eyes made him look rabbity. Those eyes hardly seemed to register my identity. He was completely preoccupied, eaten up from the inside out.
“Ah, yes? What can I do for you?” he asked me, his voice coming from a great interior distance.
“I’ve come to clean your house.”
“What?”
“That’s what I do for a living, clean. This is what I can offer you in your time of trouble.”
He was still bewildered. I was unhappy with myself, so it was more difficult to keep my impatience under wraps.
“My sister…” he faltered. “She’ll be coming tomorrow.”
“Then you need the house clean for her arrival.”
He stared some more. I stared right back. Behind him, down a dark hall, I saw Eve creep out of an open doorway. She looked like a little ghost of herself.
“Miss Lily,” she said. “Thanks for coming.”
It was what she’d heard her father say to callers all day, and her attempt to be adult gave my heart a little pang. I also wondered what Eve was doing at home, when I’d thought she was with the O’Sheas.
Emory finally stood aside so I could enter, but he still seemed uncertain. I glanced at my watch, letting him know how valuable I thought my time was, and that shook him from his lethargy.
“This is so kind of you, Miss… Bard,” he said. “Is there anything we need to…?”
“I expect Eve can show me where things are.” I am no grief counselor. I don’t know squat about children. But it’s always better to be busy.
“That would be good,” Emory said vaguely. “So I’ll…” and he just wandered off. “Oh, Eve,” he said over his shoulder, “remember your company manners. Stay with Miss Bard.”
Eve looked a little resentful, but she replied, “Yes, Daddy.”
The girl and I looked at each other carefully. “Where’s the baby?” I asked.
“She’s at the O’Sheas’ house. I was there for a while, too, but Daddy said I needed to come home.”
“All right, then. Where is the kitchen?”
Her lips curved in an incredulous smile. Surely everyone knew where the kitchen was! But Eve was polite, and she guided me to the back of the house and to the right.
“Where’s all the cleaning stuff?” I asked. I set my purse down on the kitchen counter, shrugged off my coat, and hung it on one of the kitchen chairs.
Eve opened a cupboard in the adjacent washroom. I could see that the laundry basket was full of clothes.
“Maybe you better show me the house before I start.”
So the little girl showed me her home. It was a large older house, with high ceilings and dark hardwood paneling and floors that needed work. I noticed the register of a floor furnace. I hadn’t seen one of those in years. A Christmas tree decorated with religious symbols stood in the living room, the family’s only communal room. The sofa, coffee table, and chair combo was maple with upholstery of a muted brown plaid. Clean but hideous.
Emory was slumped in the chair, his hand wrapped around a cold mug that had held coffee. I knew it was cold because I could see the ring around the middle. He’d had a drink after it had been sitting a spell. He didn’t acknowledge our passage through the room. I wondered if I’d have to dust him like a piece of furniture.
The master bedroom was tidy, but the furniture needed polishing. Eve’s room… well, her bed had been made haphazardly, but the floor was littered with Barbies and coloring books. The baby’s room was neatest, since the baby couldn’t walk yet. The diaper pail needed emptying. The bathroom needed a complete scrubbing. The kitchen was not too bad.
“Where are the sheets?” I asked.
Eve said, “Mama’s are in there.” She pointed to the double closet in the master bedroom.
I stripped down the double bed, carried the dirty sheets to the washroom, started a load of wash. Back in the bedroom, I opened the closet door.
“There’s Mama’s stool,” Eve said helpfully. “She always needs it to get things down from the closet shelf.”
I was at least six inches taller than Meredith Osborn had been, and I could easily reach the shelf. But if I wanted to look at what was behind the sheets, the stool would be handy.
I stepped up, lifted the set of sheets, and scanned the contents of the closet shelf. Another blanket for the bed, a box marked “Shoe Polish,” a cheap metal box for files and important papers. Then, under a pile of purses, I spotted a box marked “Eve.” After I’d snapped the clean sheets on the bed, I sent Eve out of the room to fetch a dustcloth and the furniture polish.
I lifted down the box and opened it. I had to clench my teeth to make myself examine its contents. My sense of invasion was overwhelming.
In the box were faded “Welcome, Baby” cards, the kind family and friends send a couple when they have a child. I quickly riffled through them. They were only what they seemed. Also in the box was a little rattle and a baby outfit. It was soft knit, yellow, with little green giraffes scattered over it, the usual snap crotch and long sleeves. It had been folded carefully. Eve’s coming home from the hospital outfit, maybe. But Eve had been born at home, I remembered. Well, then, Meredith’s favorite of all Eve’s baby clothes. My mother had some of mine and Varena’s still packed away in our attic.